


dissimulato

by acomplicatedprofession



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Dancing References, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pining, fake couple?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acomplicatedprofession/pseuds/acomplicatedprofession
Summary: You could feel the pulse pounding in your ears, in the soles of your feet, thumping in time to the music and making you feel like you were drowning. In him. All around you was movement, sweaty and magnetic and way too close. You were in out of your depth, clothed in a dress that barely covered anything with heels that legally should be classified as skewers and now Cassian, who’s your commanding officer, a captain of the Rebellion Alliance for Maker’s sake, is asking you to dance. Did this count as a direct order? Could you say no? Did you even want to?
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	dissimulato

**Author's Note:**

> I just want Diego Luna to salsa dance with me

“Stop fidgeting,” Cassian mumbled, not looking up from the ship controls.

“I can’t, it’s this stupid dress,” you said, hiking the fabric up as you stood. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d worn a dress, let alone one that cost more than an entire year’s worth of ration packs. When you asked Cassian where he’d found it, he just shrugged and handed you a case of makeup. Rouge, little pots of millaflower pigment, spiced perfume. They were the most luxurious things you’d seen since this whole mess started. _Makeup_ , you thought with a shake of your head. Where the kriff was he taking you?

“That’s because it’s not done up all the way,” Cassian said, and it took a moment before you realized he meant the dress. You glanced down at your shoulders before reaching up to your back, curling your hands awkwardly in a vain attempt to tighten the bodice.

“Damn thing. I can’t-” you struggled with the fabric. and he pushed away from the console, standing up.

He waved a hand over. “Come here.” His voice was clipped. Brusque. Mission-mode Cassian, you called it. You supposed it was fitting, given you were en-route to a mission, but it didn’t feel like it. All the bangles on your wrists and the spray in your hair made you feel like a child playing costume. You missed your tactical pants. All he had to do was put on a buttoned shirt and boots that didn’t have holes in them.

Sighing, you stepped forward and turned your back, letting him reach for the laces. You sucked in a breath when he pulled them tight across your back, your palm flying to press against your stomach. “A little looser,” you choked out. Cassian obliged, letting the ribbons go slack in his hands.

“Better?” he asked, his breath hot and tickling your neck as he leaned forward. If you dared, if you were to just turn your head, he’d be close enough to-

“Am I interrupting something?”

You whipped around to see K-2 in the doorway of the cockpit, a metal hand reaching to gesture vaguely as it looked at you.

“No!” you both shouted and Cassian pushed away from you, his back knocking against the wall and his arms still outstretched.

“No, you’re not! Cassian was just- my dress needed to-” you said as you tried to hide your embarrassment, shaking your head. That was impossible. Laughable, even.

“I’ll make sure to knock next time,” and with that K-2 turned, stepping back into the main hull. 

————

You sat on an upturned weapons crate, the emerald fabric of your dress pooling around your legs as you eyed the heels in your hands. They were a death trap, with strappy, gold ties that were possibly meant to cross around your calves. At this point, you couldn’t be sure. You turned one over in your palm and the heel slipped down between your fingers, stabbing you in the leg.

Cursing under your breath, you rubbed at your thigh with your palm, letting the other shoe fall to the floor. If you were going to wear these, the least Cassian could do was tell you why. Knowing him, though, that wasn’t very likely. He had a habit of keeping all his cards hidden, which made for a good intelligence agent but a damn annoying person to work with. He hadn’t even told you what you’d be doing. _I’m tracking an Imperial weapons supplier. We’ll be undercover at a party. That’s all you need to know._

“We’ll be undercover at a party,” you mimicked to yourself, your voice whiny and high-pitched, “That’s all you need to know.”

So now, for reasons still unknown to you, you were dressed like an Inner-Rim escort. You would’ve said no if you’d been told the details, which was probably why Cassian only handed you the clothes after you’d taken off. Damn him.

K-2 turned to you in the pilot’s seat, the ship coasting through hyperspace. “Would you like to know the probability of stumbling in those shoes?”

You glared as you attempted to untangle the straps from your hands. “Go eat a blurrg!” you called out.

“It’s high,” it spoke again, unfazed by your response. “Very, very high.”

—————-

Setting down the jar of pressed powder, you frowned at your reflection in the mirror. If you were being honest, the whole get-up wasn’t half bad. The kohl lining your eyes was a bit heavy-handed and the dress made you feel like you were stuffed in a bantha sausage casing, but you’d be lying if you said it was unattractive. It was a change from your usual appearance, that was for sure.

You stepped out of the refresher and made your way back to the cockpit, the shoes still in your hands. You weren’t going to put those on until you had to. Cassian sat in the copilot seat, one foot on the armrest as he laced up his dress shoes. Leaning against the doorway, you struck a mock pose and put a hand on your hip.

“How do I look?” you asked with an exaggerated pout on your lips. Shaking your head at the absurdity of it all, you choked down a laugh. He didn’t say anything. “Cassian?”

“You look…” and his eyes followed down the length of your body, making your skin tingle. It should’ve made you uncomfortable, but something about the way he looked at you was… admiring, although the idea of Cassian admiring any part of you was too dangerous of an idea to entertain. You chalked it up to novelty. The shock of seeing you with rouge on your cheeks instead of dirt.

“You look,” and Cassian swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Good. You look good,” he finished. When he finally met your gaze, your cheeks burned.

Wrapping your arms around your waist, you let your eyes drop to the floor. “Thanks,” you whispered.

————-

“Remind me again why I have to come with you?” you asked, crouching over to strap your shoes to your feet. K-2 was off in the ship somewhere, powered off for the night after you landed in the hangar. Cassian sighed and pulled on a suit jacket.

“They’re high-profile, it’d look suspicious. Better to be seen with someone,” he explained as you stood up. Smoothing down your hair, you raised an eyebrow.

“So I’m your arm candy?” and he didn’t look up from the side controls as he opened the ship.

“For all intents and purposes, yes.”

You rolled your eyes, pressing a palm against the wall to keep from falling over. You could do that. Smile, look pretty, kill time until Cassian did whatever he needed to do and you could make it back to the ship. Child’s play, right?

You made it about two steps down the ramp before you almost fell flat on your face.

“Hey, hey, hey, easy,” Cassian said, slipping an arm around your waist to steady you. His voice was hot against the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your hair and sending a zip of electricity down the base of your spine. “I’ve got you, “ he whispered. Fuck, since when was his voice so… so…

No. Stop it. You’ve known Cassian for years. You’ve dealt with looking at his stupid face on missions for years. Stars, if you really thought about it, which you didn’t like to, he was technically your boss. This was a mission. You were an intelligence officer. A damn good one, too - even if Cassian hadn’t thought to brief you on anything. An intelligence officer.

You should probably say something now. Intelligent. _Fuck._

“You okay?” he asked as he walked you out of the docking zone into the city streets, his hand still resting on your waist. You nodded, your tongue thick on the roof of your mouth, and vaguely registered the tips of his fingers as they pressed against your hip. For balance, right? Just so that you wouldn’t fall over again.

Adjusting the bracelets on your wrists, you spared a glance up at Cassian as you reached the entrance of a brightly-lit casino, the open double-doors spilling over with music. Watching as he handed two forged invitations to the security droid, you sucked a breath in through your teeth.

This was going to be a long night.

———–

Correllian wine was nice. Correllian wine was really, really nice. Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking on the job, but so far all you’d done is trail alongside Cassian as he skirted around the edges of the party, his eyes scanning over the heads of party guests and searching for something. Someone, more like. The rumored Imperial weapons supplier.

You could afford to be a little tipsy if all you had to do was walk around and look stupid.

Cassian didn’t look stupid, though. He looked… clean-cut. Handsome. Besides the tension in his shoulders and the fact that you’d seen him tuck a blaster into his waistband, he played his part well. You could only hope you were doing the same. 

He paused in his stride - halting with his face half-cast in the shadows of the revolving lights - and you lost your balance again, thrown off-kilter at his lack of movement. Righting yourself, you furrowed your brows and shot him a quizzical look - receiving a small shake of his head and a whispered explanation in return. “Found the supplier. Need to put a tracker on him,” and you turned your head, following his gaze to see a thin, sharply dressed man - maybe 40 or so - with a plastic smile sitting at a table off the main dance floor. He was surrounded by empty glasses and a crowd of Twi'lek… dancers? Prostitutes? Barely-clothed party guests? It was hard to tell.

“Seems like a fun guy,” you mumbled. Cassian scoffed under his breath and nodded, raising his eyebrows when you plucked a flute of champagne off a waiter’s tray. You shrugged but your nonchalance quickly turned to irritation when he took it from your hands. “Hey what’re you-”

“Shh. Trust me.” You scoffed and followed him through the crowd, eyeing the champagne. If you had a credit for every time he told you to trust him you’d be knee-deep in your own Twi’lek dancers.

As he approached the man’s table, Cassian let the glass slip from his hands, spilling champagne across the floor and the tops of the man’s shoes. The stony expression he had worn before slipped off, a mask of calculated charm taking its place. If you weren’t so used to seeing it, it’d be unnerving. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, seemingly sincere as he picked up shards of glass. The man grunted and moved his foot away, waving toward one of the waiters.

“It’s fine, just… watch where you’re going next time, alright?”

“Of course, of course,” Cassian said, flashing a blinding grin before wiping his hands on the front of his pants. He had a nice smile. Nice… teeth. Maker, what had gotten into you? Maybe the wine wasn’t a good idea after all.

“Very sorry about that, Mr…”

“Deckard. Julian Deckard.”

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Deckard,” Cassian said, sticking out a hand. Deckard took it tentatively, giving it a hesitant shake.

As Cassian walked away, you caught the slightest brush of his fingers against the man’s collar. Ducking your head as you followed him to the edges of the party, you tried to maintain appearances as your legs wobbled slightly. Whether it was the wine, the heels, or Cassian himself that caused this, you didn’t dwell too much on. Laughing when you saw him sit at the bar, you nudged him with your shoulder as he called the bartender over. Apparently, he liked spiced whiskey.

Sliding onto the stool next to him, you opted for a water. You’d had enough to drink for tonight. Tracing your finger across the rim of the glass, you looked over your shoulder to see Deckard, who seemed unsuspicious of anything besides having to get his shoes rebuffed, taking a body shot off one of the Twi’leks. Classy.

Cassian scanned around the bar and, satisfied that no one was listening or sober enough to care, spoke quietly. “I placed the tracker when we walked past. Now, if he really does meet with the Imperials, we’ll know.”

You hummed and nodded your head. That was fairly painless, right? You got a few drinks out of it, at least. “So we’re done, then? I can take all this” you motioned to your dress and the gold paint on your eyelids, “off?”

“Not so fast,” Cassian said, his eyes with a look you couldn’t place. You frowned at him, cocking your head as he downed the rest of his drink. 

“Cassian, what are you playing at? We are done, aren’t we? That was all?”

“No, not all,” he motioned towards the crowded dance floor. “Do you want to dance?”

If you didn’t already think he was crazy, this cemented it. He’d gone absolutely batshit.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re drunk.”

Cassian shook his head, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. “You’re a sadist, then. A sadist who wants to see me trip, fall, and break my nose.” He stood up and slid a few credits to the bartender. _Well,_ his face seemed to say, _aren’t you coming?_

“Cassian I-” and he pulled you towards the crowd, not listening to your pleas. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t really-”

He stopped at the outskirts of the dance floor. “Shh. I can teach you.”

You could feel the pulse pounding in your ears, in the soles of your feet, thumping in time to the music and making you feel like you were drowning. In him. All around you was movement, sweaty and magnetic and way too close. You were in out of your depth, clothed in a dress that barely covered anything with heels that legally should be classified as skewers and now Cassian, who’s your commanding officer, a captain of the Rebellion Alliance for Maker’s sake, is asking you to dance. Did this count as a direct order? Could you say no? Did you even want to? 

Before you could protest any more, he slipped an arm around your side. Fuck, okay. You were dancing. People did that all the time. You’ve danced, right? Maker, this dress is low-cut. Okay. Alright. Dancing. With Cassian.

“Did you um-” you tried to make conversation as he led your feet forward. “Did you make a habit of this? On Fest?” He chuckled and guided your hand to his shoulder, taking the other one in a gentle grip out towards his side.

“We are a people of music. It’s in my blood,” he shrugged, twirling you in an easy spin. You laughed when he pulled you into his chest, more out of nervousness than actual humor. “Relax, it’s just dancing, hm?” he mumbled into your ear, motioning towards the throng of couples. Everything was bathed in soft neon, streaking and fogged over with the heat of compromised bodies. This did not seem like “just dancing.”

Cassian stopped when you tensed at his touch, exasperation - and maybe amusement - clear in his tone. “You’re too stiff,” he said, and your arguments were quickly silenced when he placed his hands on your hips. “Here, move in a circle,” he explained, guiding your body in a slow rotation. You gulped down a breath and pressed a hand to your forehead, the silky fabric of your dress sticking to your chest. He let go and watched your attempts, only to sigh. “No, that’s a square,” he laughed. You pouted and stepped away, indignant.

“Well, how am I supposed to do it, then?”

Cassian led you in by the small of your back, his hands barely skimming the top of your ass as he pulled you close to his chest. Then he pushed down against you, pelvis to pelvis in a way that made your knees threaten to buckle. “Like this,” he whispered.

You were drunk. You’d tripped and hit your head on those damn high heels. Cracked your head open, died and were sent to hell. This could not be happening.

“Oh,” you managed to choke out. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Cassian asked, dark strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

“Okay,” you nodded, gulping down your fear and the rational, sober part of your brain that told you this was probably not a very good idea.

“Okay,” he chuckled, letting his palms rest on your waist. If you could make it out of this casino with your ankles and your dignity intact, you’d count the night a success.

Cassian led you across the dance floor, his movements steady. He was always so sure of himself. Confident, but in an understated way. It was the kind that simmered, underneath the quiet stoicism and the soft eyes. It was the kind that made you really, really want to kiss him.

You weren’t a great dancer by any means, but the longer he held you, the longer he rocked against you like it was the easiest thing in the world, the more it felt like it. Underneath the darkened lights, surrounded by strangers just as depraved on a planet where no one knew your name, you allowed yourself the feeling of touch.

He was everywhere. Palms scraping against your arms. His chest against your back, solid with the rhythm of his quickened heartbeat. His lips ghosting over your hair. It was suffocating, all-consuming, and you were certain your lungs had filled with concrete, incapable of drawing in a breath without having it rattle in the back of your throat. You were drunk, but it wasn’t on wine. It was just Cassian.

You were so fucked.

You weren’t entirely sure how long you stayed there, sweat beading between your breasts and flushing your cheeks. It didn’t matter. Nothing did. Not the Alliance, not the supplier, not K-2 still waiting at the loading port. It all fell away underneath the evening heat, turning your body to liquid and your common sense to dust. All that mattered was that you were here, dancing with him.

Cassian turned you and your back met his chest, your head falling against the curve of his shoulder. You looked at him through your lashes, following the dip of his chin as he eyed you. His mouth was close. Like, really close. Like you were sharing the same air, noses almost touching, barely inches apart close.

You can’t remember who kissed first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. You didn’t really care, as long as he didn’t stop. Maker, you wished he never stopped. You could live your whole life with your lips on his, never knowing anything besides the taste of him and the feeling of stubble beneath your hands, incapable of telling where Cassian ended and you began. You gasped when he slid a hand down the side of your thigh, the movement knocking you out of your trance.

You both pulled away, just as you had both leaned forward, eyes half-hooded and blown over with something too risky to dwell on. He coughed and stepped back, tearing his gaze away from your lips. “We should get back to the ship,” Cassian said, his voice tight in his throat, “It’s getting late.”

Yeah, it was getting late. Don’t think too much. He probably didn’t mean it, anyway.

You were both silent as you left the party, bodies that were once loose-limbed turned to practically marble. Neither of you dared say anything.

When you stepped out of the casino, Cassian let you balance on his arm as you reached down to take off your shoes. You couldn’t be bothered with them anymore, sparing a cursory look towards the ground and deeming it clean enough to walk on. You swung them on your hands, the straps digging into your fingers. 

“So…” you began.

He said nothing, just kept walking beside you. Through all of this, you can’t remember when, the first few buttons of his shirt came undone, revealing the hollow of his neck. Shaking your head with a soft sigh, you shivered against the chill of the night air as it bit your bare skin. Cassian didn’t want to talk. Okay.

He looked over to see the rising goosebumps on your neck, pausing on the walkway to take the suit jacket from his arms and drape it around your shoulders, still silent. It smelled like smoke and blaster-fire, something grounding and earthy. You avoided his eyes as you wrapped it around you, resisting the urge to bury your face in the collar and inhale. 

When you climbed inside the ship hangar, you worked up the nerve to speak again, his name soft and pleading on your tongue. “Cassian,” you said as he walked ahead of you. He stopped then, turned back just enough to give you hope.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it,” he mumbled, “I knew you didn’t feel the same-” and he was interrupted by the sound of your heels falling against the floor, your hands flying to his face as you crashed your mouth against his. He was so stupid sometimes. So handsomely, lovingly, blindingly stupid.

You heard the hull doors hiss as they opened, not registering the sound of K-2’s voice until it called out. “I should have knocked, shouldn’t I?”

Cassian didn’t look up from your face as he pressed your back to the ship wall, his arms never loosening their hold around you. “Yes,” he breathed out against your neck, “Yes you should’ve.” Tipping back when Cassian ghosted his lips across your throat, your head met metal as his suit jacket fell from your shoulders.

“I’ll power off again and give you lovebirds some privacy,” K-2 sighed with a shake of its head. “Absolutely vile.”


End file.
